False Pretense
by SiRiUsLyPaDfOoTeD
Summary: HIATUS. Despite the fact that Hermione had mysteriously disappeared for five years, George thought, 'For the brightest witch of her age, she surely shouldn't be working as a waitress at the Leaky Cauldron.' The problem with George was, he was too determined to find out why.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So this is my first attempt at writing something that actually isn't really Marauders-related. I'm in the midst of finishing my five-year-old story called 'Call Me Crazy,' but I couldn't help myself._

_Here's to hoping I finish this one._

_Disclaimer: Due to the alternate universe (sort of) of this story, Fred Weasley does not die._

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

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><p>Hermione Granger figured that if someone told her that she would be in this kind of situation five years ago, she would have hexed his head off and laughed at his underestimation of her capabilities. After all, she was the 'brightest witch of her age' – best friend to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Kill-Voldemort, and supposed sweetheart to his trusty sidekick, Ron Weasley. People actually placed bets on where she would be now – one of the top Healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, or one of the Heads of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or hell, even the Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In short, everyone imagined that Hermione Jean Granger would be one of those who achieve greatness and live in it for the rest of their lives.<p>

Yet here she was, twenty-two years old, fresh from five years spent completely in the Muggle world now serving as a waitress at the Leaky Cauldron. The brightest witch of her age was wiping tables and making finger sandwiches for weary travelers who barely recognized her after a long, tiring day. However, Hermione ensured that she wasn't recognizable – something that her superiors never really understood.

"Hermione, do you mind closing up tonight?" asked Hannah Abbott, one of Hermione's superiors despite Hannah's protests. When Hermione entered the Leaky office just a week ago, Hannah had been more than adamant that Hermione be employed for something far higher than what she was requesting. However, without any explanation as to why, Hermione personally asked to work as a waitress for all the night shifts, never to be seen in broad daylight. Reluctantly, Hannah gave her the position.

"Not at all," replied Hermione, wiping her hands on her apron and leaning against the counter. She shot Hannah a small smile, eyeing the silky black dress and the spiffed-up hair. "Are you going on a date?"

"With Neville, actually." Hannah's cheeks flushed pink. "We've been going out for three years now."

"Congratulations." Hermione went back to wiping the counters, while Hannah hastily grabbed her cloak to avoid the awkward silence that almost always followed their brief conversations. A goodbye slipping out of her mouth, Hannah headed out the door and left Hermione to her thoughts.

Hermione finished polishing the counters and the tables, before changing the café sign from 'Open' to 'Closed.' With a shaky wave of her wand, the lights dimmed to an almost black. Her eyes scanned the restaurant – clean tables with upturned chairs, a long wooden counter at the back of the room and dim chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Satisfied, Hermione fastened her cloak (a dusty old thing from her Hogwarts days) and stepped towards the backroom into Diagon Alley.

Hermione stared at the shadows cast over the shops along the cobblestoned street, tugging her scarf closer to her neck. She slid the hood over her curls and started her slow walk towards her flat, a little unit over Flourish and Blotts that the previous owner had sold to an 'anonymous tenant' on a whim. Hermione had originally hesitated at the nearness of her flat to the Wizarding World after so long, but a firm voice inside her head strictly told her that buying it would be the best thing to do.

She never really ran into anybody during her walks home, a pleasure that she enjoyed immensely. She could already imagine the bullshit they're going to write in the Daily Prophet – an immense falling out of the Golden Trio, perhaps? Or a nasty scandal between her and her supposed flame, Ron Weasley? Or just a deadly secret that everyone was _dying_ to find out? Hermione could only fathom what kind of stories journalists could make about the five years that she's been gone, and at this point, she couldn't care less. Their opinion of her didn't matter.

She paused and stared thoughtfully at the large shop on 93 Diagon Alley. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes loomed over her in the dark, the colorful storefront beaming against the moonlight. Hermione smiled wistfully, recalling the two owners with fondness. Fred and George Weasley, Ron's older brothers, had been the banes of her existence at Hogwarts due to their troublemaking skills, but she adored them as much as everyone else did. Fred and George knew how to make her laugh when no one else could, and she supposed they took pride in that. They always seemed to go the extra mile with her.

Choosing not to linger, Hermione hurried off towards her flat. It was going to be another busy night at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow, and she needed rest.

* * *

><p>Hermione had become a master at hiding behind her curls, but even that fact couldn't shake the nasty feeling inside her that something bad was going to happen that night.<p>

The Leaky Cauldron was surprisingly busy that Monday evening. She and Hannah had been working tables left and right, while Tom and his new apprentice worked nonstop at the bar. They called in for another waitress an hour into service at the rate things were going, and no matter how early Hermione slept the night before, nothing could have prepared her for the exhaustion of the customers that night.

"This is crazy," exclaimed Hannah, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead as she and Hermione met up at the counter. "I've never seen this much people at the Leaky on a Monday night before."

"Busy day at work, maybe," replied Hermione quietly, putting glasses of pumpkin juice on her tray. "Table six wants pot roast, Alice."

"Have you not taken note of the date, loves?" said Tom from the bar, wiping the counter clean. "It's the second of May. Harry Potter's going to be making a speech tonight and everything. Everyone's just stopping by for a quick drink and maybe dinner before heading off to the Apparition points."

Hermione froze. How could she forget? Today marked the anniversary of the Final Battle. Snippets of Hogwarts in ruins, dead bodies and blood flashed through her mind, and she winced behind the curtain of hair that covered her face. Hannah glanced at Hermione uneasily. "Would you like the night off?" she offered, wiping her hands with her apron.

"It's a busy night," declined Hermione. "I have to stay."

"Blimey, Mione," said Tom in surprise, "shouldn't you be there at the Anniversary Ball?"

"No," said Hermione sharply. "No, I shouldn't."

In one swift movement, Hermione piled up the dishes easily on her tray and walked away. Hannah turned to shrug apologetically at Tom, and he waved his hand dismissively in reply. Letting out a sigh, Hannah set off to get the last of people's orders before she went off herself to get ready. She could've sworn though that she saw tears well up in the bushy-haired heroine's eyes, but refused to ask the reason why Hermione was so sensitive about the topic of the War.

The rest of the night was a vague blur to Hermione. Hannah had left as soon as the temporary waitress came in, and within five minutes the brunette had decided that she was better off alone than with the waitress attempting to aid her. Hermione lost herself in the blur of getting orders and serving them, her long matted hair covering her face as she heard her former best friend's speech over the wizard's version of the television placed in the café. She ignored the pang in her chest at the discovery that neither Harry nor Ron mentioned her name, chiding herself that it was she who left them this time – and they gave up before she came back.

The café had closed late, and Hermione offered to lock up. She finished polishing the tables at nearly two in the morning, and then another shaky wand movement indicated the dimming of the lights. She didn't even bother checking if everything was alright. She just needed to get home. The heroine fastened her cloak neatly over her grimy uniform, before entering Diagon Alley.

Once again, she chose not to linger as she padded her way across the cobblestone. The eerie feeling that something bad was going to happen hadn't left her, and that worried her more than she would have liked – and that was saying something, considering she was a major worrywart. Hermione tugged her cloak closer to her frame, seeing her flat in the distance. Letting out a gulp, she hurried towards it. It was so close –

_CRACK._

Hermione let out a screech, whipping out her wand immediately and darting her eyes around the vicinity as if she were back at the Final Battle. Her eyes widened in regret.

"Hermione Granger? Is that – is that _you_?"

Her face pale, Hermione's eyes darted over the two muscular bodies clad in matching purple dress robes. Her eyes trailed over the clean polished shoes, neat suits with matching goofy-looking ties and sharp, angled jaws dropped slack by her appearance. Brown eyes met two pairs of twinkling blue ones, and Hermione couldn't help but whimper at the sight of bright red hair.

The Weasley twins.

Hermione did the only thing that her mind was telling her to do at that moment. She ran.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and alerted my story! YAY!_

_For those who just put me on alert, maybe you could drop a review next time? Heh, only if you want to of course. Reviews make me happy, and they let me know what you think about how the plot's going! So just drop me a message and who knows, maybe your idea could happen in my story._

_Random thought-vomit: I don't understand sometimes why people still put disclaimers. I mean, it's pretty implied that we don't own what we're writing if we put it on . Just thinking-and-typing here, heh._

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

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><p>George Weasley hated balls.<p>

His first event remotely close to this was the Yule Ball back in his sixth year. Not once in his life had he been required to attend a ball; he remembered with disgust seeing his dad whisk off his mum to Ministry functions dressed in stuffy robes and jewelry and _organized crap _– so yeah, a school ball definitely didn't tickle his fancy. Fred had taken it with ease, asking Angelina Johnson casually despite the fact that the back of his ears turned red (because he had a crush on the bloody girl). George, on the other hand, chose to go alone. This only meant two things – one, he didn't have to dance, and two, he could leave the damn ball any time he wanted.

And George was firm about leaving that stupid function early if it weren't for Hermione Granger. Damn Hermione Granger in that stupid blue dress that flows around her legs and her suddenly tame curls and her amazing laugh and –

"George!" said Angelina, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "You look brilliant, as usual."

George smiled and enveloped one of his best friends into a hug. "You clean up pretty well too, Johnson," he replied. He took a step back and admired his twin's girlfriend's gown. "Gold suits you. It makes you look like a prized Easter egg."

"I'll take that as a compliment," noted Angelina dryly. She turned towards Fred and pecked him on the lips. "Love, Alicia needs to talk to you about the shop. Something about an evolved version of the Pygmy Puff…"

"I'll see you later then, Forge. Don't go drinking yourself senseless without me." Fred winked at him, before sliding his arm casually around Angelina's waist and leading her towards one of their old schoolmates. Meanwhile, George nabbed a glass of elf wine and scanned the room.

The Anniversary Ball was one of the most significant events celebrated by the Ministry of Magic. On this day five years ago, his younger brother's best friend defeated You-Know-Who in the Final Battle. On this day five years ago, hundreds of lives were lost (almost including his other half, Fred) and sacrificed for peace in the Wizarding World at last. George remembered being bloody and nearly dying from exhaustion, thinking that maybe, just maybe – they'd actually lose.

It was probably the only reason why the Ministry chose to celebrate the anniversary of the Final Battle – to remember that they won, and to forget the traumatic experience. But, George thought, how could anyone forget an experience like that?

Left and right, anyone could see in the war veterans' eyes that no one could forget – and no one will.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced Minister Shacklebolt. The loud clink of his goblet echoed throughout the room, casting a general hum of silence over the attendees. George noticed the familiar weariness around the minister's eyes as he scanned the room, seeing the veterans as if they were still at War, bloodied, bruised and tired. The image never went away. "It is an honor for me to present to you for the first time in five years, Mr. Harry Potter – Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, and the International Confederation of Wizards."

"I can't believe he's actually making a speech," said his younger sister, who had magically appeared beside him. George cast a glance at Ginny, who had blossomed into a fiery young woman – whom Harry Potter was absolutely smitten with, he noted smugly. George slung an arm around her shoulder. "He can't even propose to me without stuttering."

"He proposed?" George looked down in surprise. Ginny held out her hand, a simple diamond ring blinking up at him from her ring finger. "What'd Mum say?"

"We haven't told her," said Ginny simply, tilting her head to watch her fiancé stride onstage. George snorted at the beads of sweat that visibly slid along Harry's forehead; this boy bloody saved the Wizarding World from one of the most Dark forces of all time and he's terrified of making a speech?

"Good evening, everyone," said Harry after clearing his throat. The room had become silent, watching the Boy-Who-Lived fiddle with some note cards that he brought onstage. George noticed Ginny's lips purse as Harry ran a hand consciously through his hair. "I must tell you in advance, I'm not very comfortable talking in front of a large audience. Most members of the DA know that, since I was barely comprehensible."

Members of the former Dumbledore's Army chuckled in amusement, and Harry let out a small smile before continuing. "I don't quite know what made me say yes this time to preparing a speech. Honestly, a part of me does not even recognize that it's been five years. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat with my wand at the ready, feeling like he's still out there – looking for me. Sometimes I even tear up a bit, remembering who we've lost and who sacrificed their lives for all to be well."

Harry stopped at this, and Ginny squeezed George's arm lightly. "But, let us not let them die in vain," said Harry, his voice cracking as he continued. "Let us remember that they gave up their lives for a greater cause – to stop Voldemort for good, to keep us all safe… They gave up their lives so we could live in a better world, one without dark forces ready to kill us at every corner. But us celebrating does not mean that we don't miss them."

Harry's eyes looked distant. "Let us all take a moment to remember those we've lost." He cleared his throat again and lifted his wine glass. "To the true saviors of the Wizarding World."

Everyone raised their glasses. "To the true saviors of the Wizarding World."

"You have to admit that was bloody brilliant," said George towards his sister, before lifting the glass to his lips and downing the drink. Ginny could only muster a nod. "I suppose you must go comfort him now. He looks like he's about to shit in his pants."

"Thank you for that beautiful image, George," snapped Ginny. She gulped down her drink and settled it daintily on George's free hand. "Now if you'll excuse me, I shall go save my fiancé from future ridicule from the likes of you."

She walked towards him, her robes billowing in her wake. George couldn't help but grin slightly as he watched Harry take his sister in his arms, Ginny rubbing his back comfortingly in return. As sappy as this sounded, George wished that somebody would do the same for him after a stressful day at work – someone like – well, someone like Hermione Jean Granger. _But she's gone now_, George reminded himself with a shake of his head, _just bloody disappeared_ – who knows, she could even be dead.

"George," called Fred, making his way towards his twin. "I'm pretty beat, and I want to check something in the backroom of the shop. Are you coming with me?"

George tossed down another glass of elf wine before nodding. Just like any other night, George Weasley hated balls.

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><p>They Apparated with a simple <em>CRACK<em>.

Fred and George landed smoothly on the pavement of Diagon Alley, their shop standing proudly over them. George remembered how they almost lost this at the War, and it pained him imagining the shop in flames. Letting out a sigh, he couldn't wait to just stumble into their flat above the shop, get out of these stuffy purple robes and collapse on his bed. However, it seemed like Fate had other plans – this girl was screeching her head off with a wand at the ready and –

George's eyes widened at the sight of her. Wrapped snugly around a frayed cloak, a girl about twenty-two years old stared at him in shock. Chocolate brown eyes framed by a mane of wild, messy curls gazed into his, while frail fingers clutched a wand until her knuckles turned white. Freckles dotted daintily across her nose, and her full lips were parted slightly as her eyes finally took all of him and his twin in.

"Hermione Granger? Is that – is that _you_?" he managed to let out. The girl let out a soft whimper, before turning on her heel and sprinting away from them as fast as she could. "Hermione, wait!"

"George!" said Fred sharply, grabbing him back. George turned to him, eyes wild. "George."

"It's her, I swear it was!" cried George. He wrenched his arm away from his brother's grasp. The image of the girl filled his head – her curls, her heart-shaped face, her parted lips –

"George, we haven't seen Hermione in five years. Surely we can't tell who she is now," reminded Fred in a low voice. "Let's just get in there and get some rest, yeah? Maybe it's the elf wine talking, but you looked like you were about to collapse awhile ago."

_Not anymore_, thought George, his mind suddenly awake and alert. He tilted his head towards the general direction where the girl slipped away, but now all he could see was darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed and alerted my story! YAY! Just keep reviewing._

_It's been too long._

_BTW, there is something I noticed about the story, and it'd be kind of stupid for everyone to NOT realize it was Hermione. You mind if we put this suspension of disbelief thing that they really don't recognize her so much because her hair's always in her face when they talk and interact?_

_Follow me on Twitter and Tumblr though, if you're interested! Link will be up on my profile._

_XOXO_

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

"You look like shit, mate."

George looked up from his cup of coffee, watching his twin lean against the doorway casually. Fred was dressed in his work robes, and he was busy combing his fingers through his hair to mess it up a little bit. George was in similar attire; however Fred didn't have the dark bags that lined his eyes or the grumpy expression that darkened George's face. "Couldn't sleep," he said, taking a huge gulp of the freshly brewed coffee.

"Let me guess," said Fred, moving to grab a piece of toast from the table. "You were tossing and turning all night thinking about the girl who nearly cursed our brains out last night." When George didn't answer, Fred sighed and placed his hands on the table, leaning forward. "George, I highly doubt that was Hermione, alright? She died, remember?"

"She disappeared," said George sharply, his eyes meeting his twin's. "She didn't die."

"What's with this sudden fascination with Hermione Granger, hmm?" asked Fred. "Is it because of Katie?"

"Definitely _not_ because of Katie." George downed his coffee in one gulp. "Can we drop it, please?"

"Only if you stop thinking about Hermione." Fred reached out and ruffled George's hair lightly. "I'm just a tad bit worried about you, mate. And I worry that I worry – it makes me sound like Mum."

George chuckled slightly and nodded, before standing up and wrapping his arms around his brother. He was surprised that someone like Fred would actually make sense, but then again recent events caused him to believe that maybe things didn't really make sense at all. Fred hugged him back with ease and moved to check his reflection in the mirror. "Oh, before I forget, I'll be off early today. I have to meet somebody tonight at the Leaky for some negotiations," said George, waving his wand lazily to scoop up his mug to the sink.

"That Bowles man you were talking about?" asked Fred distractedly.

"Yeah, he says we can get some of our ingredients half-off if we buy from him."

"Sounds a little bit odd, don't you think?" Fred tilted his head to look at his twin, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Sounds _practical_," corrected George. "I won't be making the deal tonight without your input, of course."

"Alright then, I'll get Alicia to cover for you later." Fred winked roguishly, before heading towards the door to their flat. "I'll go ahead and open up."

George stayed behind, straying to stare at his reflection as well in the mirror. Fred was right; there was no use lingering over a memory like Hermione. It had been five years after all. What if she really was dead and that was the reason why they never saw her again? Maybe last night was a mistake – and a sign that George should really just move on from, well – everything.

He sighed and threaded his fingers through his hair. Never mind, he should really focus on the most important thing – the meeting tonight with Bowles. If everything goes right tonight, the twins would be swimming in Galleons. Hermione – or at least, the ghost of her – would not fit in that picture. With a slight firm nod of his head, George walked downstairs to the shop, leaving thoughts of the curly-haired witch behind him.

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><p>"Bloody hell," cursed Hermione as the plate fell to the floor with a resounding crash. A few of the nearby customers glanced at her curiously, but with a fierce whip of her hair, she curtained her face as she slipped down to pick up the broken pieces.<p>

"Let me," said Hannah kindly, bringing out her wand and repairing the plate in an instant before Hermione could even pick up a shard of broken ceramic. "Are you sure you don't want to go home early today? I know you just started, but you seem to be all over the place tonight."

"I'm fine." Hermione picked up the repaired plate from the floor and moved her way around Hannah towards the counter. Ever since last night, Hermione's nerves have been all frizzy. She didn't think that she was going to run into Fred or George or any Weasley for that matter, but at the back of her mind she still had a nagging feeling that their encounter was far from over.

"That's the third plate you broke," said Hannah sternly, stopping Hermione in her path before she could leave the counter with some soup. "You're not usually clumsy. You're lucky you haven't spilled any food yet."

"It won't happen again." The sharpness of Hermione's tone left Hannah speechless. Choosing not to say otherwise and shaking her head, Hannah headed back towards the office. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her nerves were frayed. Everywhere she looked, any redhead caused her legs to shake, and any sight of a bespectacled man with glasses drove her back to the counter faster than the latest Firebolt.

Maybe it really was best if she went home and retired for the night. Her lack of sleep was costing her a job well done, and despite her disappearance for five years, she still disliked giving less than a hundred percent while she was working. Hermione served the soup and sighed, wiping sweat off her forehead with her sleeve. Yes, she should go home.

Before she could go back to Hannah's office to ask if she could leave early, a hand shot up in the air, signaling for a waitress. Hermione took a deep breath. She'll finish this last one, then head home. Keeping her head down, she weaved her way through the wooden tables to meet the men at the corner booth. "May I have your orders, sir?" she asked lightly, whipping out a piece of parchment and a quill tucked underneath her curls.

"A Firewhiskey and some pumpkin soup. Thanks, love. "

"None for me. Mr. Bowles, I assure you that –"

"Mr. Weasley, I do insist that you get some food. Do you have a menu with you, darling?"

Hermione froze as the man's words washed over her. Keeping her hair curtained around her, she nodded numbly and placed a menu in front of the redhead in front of her. "I'll have to g-get back with you," she stammered out.

"No, it's alright. I'll be ready in a moment."

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><p>George was getting slightly frustrated with Bowles at this point. They had been talking for about an hour or so, and it made his blood boil knowing that negotiations weren't falling into place. He threaded his fingers through his hair roughly as Bowles made yet another distraction from what was actually going on.<p>

"I daresay I am quite hungry, Mr. Weasley," commented Bowles, raising his hand to call a waitress. George wanted to wring his fingers around the man's thick neck. "Business does give me a hearty appetite."

"May I have your orders, sir?" asked the waitress timidly. George wanted to shoo her away, but instead closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose to avoid the growing migraine in his head. Bowles ordered a Firewhiskey and pumpkin soup (and he called it a hearty appetite, George mused in disgust), and demanded that George ordered as well.

"I'll have to g-get back with you."

"No it's alright. I'll be ready in a moment." George chose to look up, and he froze.

There was no denying that it was _her_. He could see right through that thick curtain of curls. Had she been here all this time? Hadn't anyone recognized her? Perhaps it was because her cheekbones were protruding slightly more so than before, or that there were wrinkles that stressfully lined or face. But those things didn't faze George in the slightest. It was her – her wide, brown eyes, her thick curls, her full, pink lips – Hermione Granger.

"I have to go," she mumbled, and fled.

"How rude!" exclaimed Bowles, nearly knocking over his mug of tea. "I shall have to report that woman to the manager –"

"Excuse me, Mr. Bowles, but I'm afraid that I forgot that I have another appointment scheduled. I thought that this would end much earlier, but I must leave." George stood up and immediately followed her out the door, despite the man's protests.

Her curls were immediately recognizable from afar, now that George was certain it was her. He couldn't believe that he almost let this go! He didn't understand why she had been hiding from them for so long. They were like her family; they were all she has. "Hermione!" he yelled, racing after her.

She turned on the corner into an alleyway, yet as soon as he turned the same way she was gone. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. She was there. She was _alive_. He leaned against the wall and threaded his fingers through his hair in anguish. He didn't understand. Why didn't she say _anything_?


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: YAY! I have the inspiration to write! You have no idea how rare this is for me. :)_

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed the story and helped me update. You guys keep me young. HAHA. What am I even saying. Keep reviewing, okay?_

_Follow me on Twitter and Tumblr, if you're interested! Link will be up on my profile._

_XOXO_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

"This is getting ridiculous, George," said Hannah exasperatedly, leaning against the counter of the Leaky Cauldron. "I told you, Hermione doesn't work here."

"Stop lying to me!" retorted George. He slammed his hands on the table and glared at her, his blue eyes sparkling in anger. "I _saw _her three days ago. She served my table while I was having a meeting with one of my suppliers. You _need _to tell me where she is."

"George, you've been coming here every day since and clearly she doesn't work here. If she did, you would have seen her by now." Hannah started wiping the counter. "I don't know what it is you want, but _she's not here_. Let it go."

George stifled a growl and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. She was right. He had been coming here for the past three days – much to Fred's bemusement and bewilderment – to see if he really wasn't dreaming. He would come in twice a day, just to see if she was on the day or night shift, but he hadn't seen her at all. But he knew he saw her. She wouldn't have run away if it wasn't her. "Thank you, Hannah. I'm sorry for the trouble," he said civilly, before turning on his heel and exiting through the door.

Hannah watched him leave and sighed heavily, before tilting her head towards the corner behind the counter. "I really don't understand why you're doing this," she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're being a coward, Hermione."

Hermione wearily looked up from underneath the hood of her cloak as she sat among the shadows. Hannah noted the tiredness behind her eyes and the slight numbness of her expression. She didn't understand what was bothering Hermione so much. "I don't know what to do," admitted Hermione quietly, playing with the hem of her cloak.

"I don't understand why you can't face him." Hannah picked up the rag from the counter and started polishing the mugs by the bar. Hermione sighed and stood up, trying to dust herself off. "This Disillusion Charm works on strangers, Hermione, but not on people who know you, who _really _know you. Do Harry and Ron even know you're here?"

"They all think I'm dead," said Hermione softly, "and I intend to keep it that way."

"You can't keep hiding from them forever. What brought you back to London, much more the Wizarding World anyway?"

* * *

><p>"Are you sure about this?"<p>

Hermione paced back and forth in the living room of her flat, choosing to gaze at the slightly peeling wallpaper on the upper left corner. Her friend and confidante for the past five years, a Squib named Poppy, sat on the couch. Her legs were folded beneath her, a box of Chinese take-out nestled in the spot between them. "I don't know," said Hermione slowly.

"Of all the years that I've known you, Hermione, you're not exactly the type of person who does things unsurely." Poppy raised an eyebrow. "I certainly know why you'd leave the Wizarding World, but I clearly don't understand why you'd want to come back."

"It's just different there, I suppose."

"I would've gone along more with unfinished business." Poppy smirked, and Hermione stopped pacing to glare at her. "Alright, alright, that wasn't funny. I get it."

Hermione sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear, looking at her reflection against the window. After five years, her hair was still a mess of curls, cut a little past her shoulders. Although her cheekbones were protruding more on her face, her face still held that youthful beauty and sharpness that only Ron would rave about. She chewed on her lip nervously. "But I am happy here," she thought aloud.

"You are, and I don't doubt that," agreed Poppy, leaning back and pulling her knees to her chest with the Chinese take-out in tow. "You're settled here. So is he. Why would you want to uproot your life like that?"

"Like you said," said Hermione, still staring at her reflection, "I've got unfinished business."

* * *

><p>The large manor loomed over the hill, its shadows blending into the shadows of the large, lifeless trees that surrounded the estate. Hermione watched it from beyond the gate, her eyes absently scanning over the grounds. A stray peacock or two danced across the lawn, its feathers glistening in the moonlight. She took a deep breath and raised her wand, but before she could even begin chanting a spell, the gates creaked open. With a bemused smile and a roll of her eyes, Hermione walked inside.<p>

The door slid open, and Hermione briskly walked inside the dimly lit hallway. She was surprised that she was even here, but she knew she was being ridiculous just avoiding what needed to be done. She tucked stray strands of her curls behind her ear, scanning the corridors and the portraits that adorned them. A wry smile tugged at her lips, the silvery white oil of the paintings dancing against the candlelight.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Granger?" Hermione stiffened at the sound of his voice. She turned around slowly, wrapping her arms around her frame. Draco Malfoy stood before her, a look of slight bewilderment and curiosity on his face. He hadn't aged much in five years; his light blonde hair had gone past his ears, and there seemed to be a wiser glint in his silver eyes. His lean frame was clad in business robes, as if he had just gotten home from Malfoy Enterprises.

"Malfoy," she acknowledged, a small smile on her face.

"We," Draco cleared his throat, "They thought you were dead."

"Apparently not," she said, and Draco shot her a look. She glanced around the hallway. "It's much darker than I remember, but it doesn't feel that way."

"Why are you here, Hermione?" asked Draco gently, crossing his arms over his chest. Hermione looked at him in surprise, her mouth parted slightly as if she were still in the middle of her babbling. "From what I remember, we didn't exactly have a _golden _friendship. Despite that, I never knew you to be one who would beat around the bush."

Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples, a slight frown wrinkling her features. "Are you still in contact with Theodore Nott?"

"Theo, yes. He's about to be married next week." Draco frowned as well. "Why?"

"I need you to come with me." Hermione took his hand and moved to drag him out the door. Draco resisted slightly, but he followed her onto the grounds. The moon shone brightly above them, and Hermione's grip was surprisingly tight despite her tired-looking exterior.

"Granger, what is going on?" he asked a bit more urgently, tugging at her arm. Hermione closed her eyes and stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"We need to go to Diagon Alley."

"Well, we can just do sidelong apparition, since I can Apparate in and out of here. Where there?"

"By the alley near the Leaky Cauldron." Almost instantly, Hermione felt the tug at her navel and Draco's fingers clasping her wrist. Her mind drifted easily into nothing, wishing that the task at hand wasn't as difficult as it actually seemed. When her eyes opened, she saw Draco gazing expectantly at her. She sighed and took a deep breath, before tugging him along the alley.

"I admit that this air of mystery about you is quite alluring," teased Draco. Hermione shoved him lightly, trying not to smile. After the War, she and Draco had made amends – something that Ron never really got over. Draco was a decent man, and all he really wanted was what was best for his family. She admired that most about him. "So, are we supposed to catch up while we're walking?"

"Just shush," she chided gently. She finally reached a small doorway in the middle of the alley. She tapped an intricate pattern on the door, and it slid open smoothly. She lit her wand up, emitting a weak light that Draco was shocked by, and led the way up the staircase.

"This is where you live?" asked Draco, slightly aghast. "Hermione, do you need money or something? Because honestly, you don't need to go to Theo for that, I can just give you –"

"That isn't it." She sighed, reaching the top of the staircase. Another wooden door stood before them. She knocked gently on the door. "Dom? Dominic, darling, it's me."

The door creaked open, and a little boy with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes peered out. Hermione smiled instantly at the sight of him, reaching down to rub his cheek gently with her thumb. "Hi, Mum," he said softly. Draco looked at Hermione in shock, and he could see tears pouring slightly down her face. "Did you find him, like you said?"

"No, sweetheart, I'm sorry. But we'll meet him soon." She opened the door slightly and ushered Draco in. She turned to him quietly, watching him thread his fingers through his hair. "Draco, I –"

"That – Theo – I –"

"Yes, Malfoy. That's Nott's son."


End file.
